Sweet Charlotte

「 seventeen: wavering pleas 」

Seth didn't acknowledge her outfit when she got into the car, not that she was expecting him to or even hoping for him to. Seth wasn't the type to compliment. Not outwardly.

"Okay, we need a game plan."

What a classic Seth greeting. Willow smirked, dumping her purse by her feet and reaching for her seat belt as he started down the street. "Why's that?"

"We need to figure out the best way to get information out of people."

"Isn't making a game plan then the opposite of what we should be doing?"

Seth turned to her, squinting, tearing his gaze from the road for an instant.

Willow cleared her throat. "I mean, if the plan is to act natural and casually get intel, wouldn't forming a plan make us seem too calculated?"

Seth was silent at first, then hummed, considering. "I think this is why you're the brains of the operation."

Willow smirked and leaned further back in her seat.

As suspected, when they arrived at the school, it wasn't busy. School dances, and school spirit in general, wasn't very popular at Blackview High, so it wasn't a surprise that most of the student population would rather stay home and get drunk behind their parents backs opposed to spending time in a sweaty school gym where they were monitored by staff.

But dances weren't really for the average student. Deep down, everyone knew that dances were for the populars. The cute ones, the rich ones, the ones that gain something out of going to a school dance — further popularity or, potentially, a date come the end of the night. It's also, of course, the chance to knock out other competition. The populars at Blackview didn't operate like other high schools in how they belittled other teens to the brink of madness. Rather, they'd be everywhere on every inch of school grounds. They were in clubs, on committees, planning events, attending events, posting pictures online, running from class to class, giving presentations; any activity that a high schooler could name, the populars were doing it.

They were in all the teachers good books and, thanks to that, normally they were the ones given the titles of valedictorian, prom king and queen, and the title holders of every scholarship they could get their hands on. It's like they were celebrities, only with less real world weight. Everyone knew them, and every influential person that mattered liked them, and no matter what you did, you could not escape them or the self-conscious way their existence made you feel.

The handful of non-populars that did show up — unsuspecting freshmen and not-able-to-read-social-cues later-years — wandered into the gym blankly. That was, except for Seth and Willow. They were watching everyone like hawks.

Willow hadn't paid much mind to what Seth was wearing — frankly because attire was the least of her concerns — but only now did she realize just how dressed up he was. Nothing fancy, but she would say he was one attire level fancier than hers. Still, an upgrade from what he normally wore. Non-ripped jeans, a button up, cleaned shoes. Apparently, Seth Beckett cleans up nice. Who knew.

Willow hadn't realized, making her way through the entrance, that there was a ticket price. Two students — both nameless sophomores — sat at a plastic table with dollar store banners tapped to the front. It looked horrible and ridiculously trashy, but it was what Willow expected from a high school dance.

"Two dollars each, please."

Willow froze. She didn't have change. Hell, she wasn't even sure if she could've found the change by scavenging through couch cushions. They were already scraping the bottom of the barrel as it was, and she doubted that either of her parents would spare change to let her go to a dance. Not one where she 'could get more sick.'